


The Way To His Heart

by Dana



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: First time (kiss), Gene's weird and that's okay, M/M, Post Series, Sam's weird too so there's balance, silliness and fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 02:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8083246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: Something is up, but Sam's not quite sure what.  Further investigation is definitely required.





	

**Author's Note:**

> What started as a small pile of silliness and fluff exploded into something much larger (but that's okay, I was in the mood to write something happy).
> 
> Beta thanks go to the ever amazing **Loz**. ♥

The morning Gene gathers them round for his first ever 'daily invective talk', Sam must be dreaming; that, or he's completely lost his mind. He knows either situation is just as likely as the other, what with nothing being impossible, not here in the wasteland of 1973-almost-1974. Whichever it is, his tea goes down the wrong way and now Gene's glaring bloody murder at him, like it's all Sam's fault.

'I'm fine.' He chokes it out, and no, he doesn't sound fine, plus his eyes are watering. Annie – helpful as ever, though sometimes to his detriment, not that she's to blame – pats his back as he works his way through the fit, throat on fire.

It seems to go on forever, one second dragging endlessly into the next, only then Sam's coughed a few more times and he clears his throat, giving Annie a faint smile before he takes another drink of his tea. That straightens things up for the most part, but Gene's simply stoically (stubbornly?) standing by, and Sam's still the centre of attention. He doesn't much like it. He couldn't have known that Gene would choose just that moment to be 'outreaching and enlightened', and it isn't as if he'd been blessed with foresight and told them not to be drinking while he made his announcement. It may just be that Gene wanted to see Sam squirm – actually, that may just be one of Gene's favourite things.

His expression has softened, though. It's not the murderous scowl, no, not with a pout that sulky. 'Sorry.' Sam clears his throat again, hopefully for the last time. 'Honestly, Guv, I'm okay. You can continue.'

'Oh, because you say so?'

'Actually, yes.'

Gene snorts softly, that grin on his lips, mocking and self-secure at the same time. 'Are you sure? Cause I could gladly give you another minute, if it's what you need.'

Sam's close to glaring. 'I'm _fine_.' He still doesn't sound it, and there's an annoying tickle left over at the back of his throat, and the more he thinks about it, the more it nags. Ray snickers and Gene's hot glare goes absolutely frosty; Ray shuts right up. Sam rubs the hint of tears from his eyes and apologises yet again for the interruption, and he's really okay now, they can move on. Gene harrumphs before thanking him for his 'sputtering input', then gets on with things. Finally.

'Well?' It borders on imperious, how he scans the half-circle of detectives. Someone snickers, someone else coughs, but no one dares speak up. 'You heard what I said before: where do you lot see yourself at the end of the day?'

Ray, recovered already, elbows Chris in the side and Chris raises a meek hand. 'The pub?'

Sam groans inwardly as Gene rolls his eyes upwards to the phosphorescent lights overhead, a few other groans and chuckles coming from the gathered detectives. 'Right, let's try that again – this time, use your bloody brains: where would you like to be come the end of the day, and I want real answers, something better than 'the pub'.'

This time, it's Annie who's got something to say: 'I hope to make some headway on the Lancaster case – it's just not right, what that bas – that bloke did to that poor woman. I've managed to track down her last boyfriend, and he's due in for an interview at half eleven.' She holds her hand up, grinning. 'I've got my fingers crossed.'

'Good answer, Cartwright – now,' he nods at Chris, 'you.'

Chris nods in turn, all thoughtful, and Sam listens and looks on in wonder as the rest of their team do more than just humour their Guv as they voice their hopes in regards to what they plan to accomplish by quitting time. Even Ray gives a halfway serious response, which comes close to being what surprises Sam the most. The top spot, though, is Gene – but then, isn't it always Gene?

It's oddly amusing, and strangely comforting – it's also the sort of thing Sam would have done as a DCI, so it's a bit like coming home. He's got moods, but he brings up 'Hyde' less and less these days (Annie's noticed it, says it's for the best, but Gene's sure to have noticed it as well, the way he notices everything, but giving Sam a running commentary would be out of character). Gene's either gone and developed psychic powers (the thought is terrifying) or he listens to Sam when he's drunkenly rambling, because he's never, _ever_ complained about missing that sort of interaction with his team-mates while sober. That should scare him, too, but the thought, rather like the entire odd situation as a whole, it's only another consolation.

Gene listens to him. It shouldn't seem so incredible, something ripped from a fantasy, but there it is and it is what it is. How could he say Sam is one thing, a picky pain in the arse who's absolutely full of himself, and then in that same breath listen to everything Sam's got to say, even taking some of those things to heart? Maybe he wants to get a rise out of Sam, one way being better than nothing at all. Sam's not as driven to fight Gene tooth and nail now that this is home, but – _but_. He's got his limits, still.

This bout of unexpected intuition re team morale might be the start of something big, and very confounding, and confusing on the whole, but good for the lot of them – it might not be anything at all, other than Gene wanting to milk them all for all they're worth. Gene doesn't tend to take Sam's opinion into consideration when they're on the job, so why would he pay extra attention when they're supposed to be off duty, and Sam's pissed off his head? Because if that's what's happening, then it could only be about _him_. Sam's not quite sure what to do with that thought, the way he's never really sure what to do with Gene.

That level of drunkenness doesn't take them too often, when Gene's just as gone as Sam is – but, what is Sam to think, if Gene's been faking it all along? Gene's better at handling his liquor, he's seen it too many times to count, what with the bigger bulk and all, plus all those extra years of managing his habit tucked neatly under his belt. Sam gets sad, or passes out, or goes absolutely melancholy; obviously, not that he can fully remember the details, he must also talk whole lot, his defences stripped away by too much liquor.

Oh – what is he trying to say (or think, whatever)? Of course Gene would listen to him when Sam didn't want him to, that's just how it works. He knows it's stupid of him but he even feels somewhat suspicious, as if Gene's playing some sort of game, with him pulling the strings and Sam the one who's mostly unaware; he's done that sort of thing before. It's more than stupid – close to outright idiotic, really – because he trusts Gene with his life, so what exactly does he have a problem with? If Gene wants to implement new ideas that are beneficial for all of them, then Sam should embrace them too.

Why does he have to know what it means? Does it have to have a meaning? Is Sam hoping for something, hoping for too much, unwilling to learn the pivotal lesson that the 70s have tried beating into him so far; that he should never get his hopes up, ever? That worked, when this was a fantasy – a very realistic one, nonetheless – but this is all he's got now. Everything matters, especially the bits that shouldn't.

' – _Gladys_. I'm sure you think you have better things to do with your time, but could you answer the ruddy question for the rest of the class? Time's a-wastin', we've blaggards to catch.'

'Oh – well.' He smiles, because Gene's left himself wide open, and Sam's going to dig to the bottom of it and figure out what it means. Gene can't have known... unless, Gene always knows. He says what he says and he means one thing, and what he doesn't say means something else altogether. 'Got a new lead on a very pressing case.'

Sam is being very obviously evasive, and Gene immediately takes the bait. His posture straightens up, his eyes sharpen. 'What bloody case is that?'

'There's nothing more I can tell you right now, I'm sorry.'

Gene's brow tightens, his interest fully piqued. That's it, Sam, you've got him now, don't stop. 'That so? One of our cases, or just a little project of your own? You know how it works, Tyler – you get a lead, you share it with me.'

Sam, knowing he's playing with fire, shrugs as he grins. 'Sorry, Guv – they want to remain anonymous, and I know you'd rather I just up and tell you who they are, but I can't break confidentiality. Rules are rules.'

Gene's gaze is steady, his expression lacking. 'Right then,' he says, giving a sharp nod, and there's a hint of that grin again, as well as a bubble of pleasant warmth in Sam's stomach that can't be blamed on anything he's eaten.

It shouldn't make any sense. He's not given any hint that Gene's the subject of his investigation, but maybe that's just Gene being himself, always two steps ahead. Maybe this is the real reaction Gene was looking for, when he decided to pull this new appreciation for exercises in morale building out of his arse. Maybe he knows exactly what Sam's up to, having been hoping this would how he'd react. Sam's too thick to avoid the obvious baiting, no, he's fallen for it before. Just like always, he's going to be reeled right in.

'Well, you go play house with your new friend, see what you can turn up.' The grin is gone, replaced with a scowl. He claps his hands, hard, and Chris yelps, jumping in surprise. 'Well, let's get on with it then! The criminals aren't going to catch themselves!'

Chris sighs as him and Ray head off, Ray dragging him by the arm. 'Would be nice, wouldn't it?'

'Yeah, and that'd be us out a job, you bloody div.'

Sam turns back to look at Gene, but Gene's already looking at him. He catches Gene's gaze, and holds it, effortlessly almost. Gene's not sure what Sam's getting at, and even Sam's not completely sure what he's setting out to do. 'Just bellow if you need me, Guv – I'll come running. With bells on, even.'

–  
–

Sam plays it as though nothing is out of the ordinary as he makes his way through the day, and Gene's not paying too much attention to him, so that suits him just fine. Sam has his 'new lead' to follow through on, but what he does – in between doing his actual job, which sends him out of the station several times, as well as down into the collator's den – is keep an eye on Gene. There's no escaping it – the more he tries to tell himself this is a bad, stupid idea, the sort he'll regret for the rest of his life, he does the opposite and thinks about it some more: Gene clearly listens to Sam's ideas even as he mocks him for being a self-righteous, prissy pain in the arse, and that has to mean something. Sam wants to know what.

Is this some sort of experiment, Gene taking the piss out of Sam just to see how far he can get him to go, or is Gene making a serious attempt to show Sam he respects at least some of his ideals? They go at policing so differently, that's hard to imagine: but... It's still a nice thought. He already knows that the way they both do things has benefited from the other, not that they've ever sat down and had a proper tête-à-tête about the subject. On top of everything else, Gene couldn't have appreciated the French.

It has to be too much, but Sam's not got anything left to lose – he's not going to give this up.

No, if he plays this right, he can only win.

–  
–

Gene gathers them all round again at the end of the day, and after that, once he's called beer o'clock and sent them on their way, Sam's startled as Gene grabs him by the arm and tugs him back a few steps. 'Well?' Gene asks, subtlety cast aside, and Annie glances backwards before heading on out, shaking her head as she rolls her eyes. She's gone out the door now, and Sam glances back at Gene, forcing a smile.

'You didn't have much to say at our little pow-wow, didn't you have a good day with your... new lead?'

Sam glances back at Gene, completely aware of how close they are, Gene's need to press into his personal space – but then, Sam's as much at fault, since he always lets it happen. 'I learned plenty,' Sam replies, aiming for guileless. He doesn't have anything, beyond what he had at the start of the day: Gene smokes like a chimney and drinks like a fish, and the grease content of his food makes Sam's skin crawl. 'Not enough to make heads or tails of it yet, but I'll be… keeping in contact with this one. I'm heading the right way.'

'Is that what you think, eh Sherlock?'

Sam nods, and Gene snorts as he laughs. 'Well I think you're lying through your teeth.' He lets Sam go, and Sam's heels click as he moves forward just enough to spin around. Sam folds his arms and scowls at Gene, Gene mirroring his pose. Well, other than the smirk. 'See? Defensive already, which means I'm right.'

'You're talking out your arse, but that's nothing new. How did _your_ day go, Guv – what did you accomplish, beyond smoking three full packs?' He catches the slip up as soon as he's said it, but so has Gene.

Gene's eyebrows shift up, slightly, but it's amusement more than annoyance. 'What, you noticed?'

Sam flusters, and curses himself for letting that out. 'I notice plenty, that's all – more than you think I do.'

'Oh?' Gene grins at him. 'You're not the only one, Sammy-boy.' He lowers his arms, moving forward swiftly, but Sam's lagging behind. He lifts his hands up to shield the coming blow, but what he gets is a light jab to the nose, so nothing that he had expected.

'What – '

'Just, keep up the good work – that's all.' Gene takes him by the shoulder, spinning him about and marching them both outwards the door. 'You're bound to find what you're looking for, so...' And he wets his upper lip with the tip of his tongue, and something absolutely _hot_ curls in Sam's belly, and yes, that's definitely not to be blamed on the canteen. Then Gene has the gall to gaze at him from beneath his thick lashes, all furtive. 'Keep on digging.'

Sam splutters. The heat on his skin is equal parts embarrassment and confusion and if Gene isn't playing with him, then Sam's dumb and deaf and blind. And he isn't any of those things, so...

Gene's hold on his shoulder is, beyond reassuring, decidedly tight.

–  
–

He's shooting looks at Gene, from time to time. He's across the pub, playing darts with Ray and some others from B Division. Annie keeps Sam company for most of the night, but then she's saying her goodbyes and Sam's tempted to ask her if she'd like the company on a walk home. He says goodbye, instead, that he'll see her in the morning. Then he's shooting another look over at Gene, only it seems the game has ended, and Gene's already looking over at him.

Sam's cheeks burn from the attention. Gene rolls his eyes, shakes his head, walks on over – it's really quite the swagger. Gene being Gene is comforting, and Sam relaxes, the blush fading as he smiles. 'Who won?'

'Yours truly.'

'I guess that makes it my round.'

'Exactly.'

They drink a while, sometimes in silence, sometimes making idle small talk. Sam feels more relaxed beside Gene than he's let him be throughout this personal investigation, the inanity of it, the strain of the last seven days. He turns to look at him, thinking back through it all, every little detail sliding back into focus. When he puts enough thought into it, Gene seems to watch him just as often as Sam's watching him. He sighs, props his chin beneath his fist.

Gene straightens up, scowls. 'What's the mood for, Gladys?'

'It's not a – '

But Sam doesn't get to finish what he's saying, no, not as Gene reaches out and bops him lightly on the nose. Whatever Sam had been trying to say runs out of him in a second, and he stares at Gene, gape-mouthed. 'Thinking too much, so you tell me – ' and then, as if the nose jab wasn't bad enough, Gene firmly taps him on the forehead. 'What's on your mind?'

Sam leans back, somewhat dazed. 'D'you really want to know?'

Gene meets his gaze, but no words follow. The answer is still obvious.

He looks about the room, the other patrons of the bar, only then his eyes are back on Gene, as though he's the only person in the room. 'I'm looking for something,' and it doesn't help that he blurts out. One of Gene's eyebrows shifts marginally. 'Trying to figure something out.' Figure something out? Figure someone out, and the someone is looking at him now, eyes clear in the clear, somehow guarded. 'It seems bloody obvious, but I can't make the dots connect.'

'Dig deeper.' Dig deeper, like he'd said before, only that time it had been 'keep on digging'. Sam will, there's no stopping him, but it's not as easy as Gene is making it out to be. Especially since Gene's probably managed to figure out a few things of his own, if it hadn't been him knowing from the start.

Sam shrugs. 'Don't know how much further I can dig. I don't know how much the suspect would appreciate my... line of investigation.'

'Well,' Gene drawls, 'maybe that just means you need to change it all up?'

Sam wants to groan in frustration but holds it in. This could be easy, if he were an easier person to be around, and he just _asked_ Gene what was going on instead of trying to dance along with him, playing the same game. If only Gene knew – but then, since it's Gene, and he's always the one who's playing and then changing the game, he probably already does. So he looks to Gene, perhaps wanting another hint. All Gene does is say, 'finish your drink, then it's my round.'

–  
–

Sam knows how Gene works: Gene's toying at him like a cat with a bit of string, and Sam's letting it happen. Gene's ruffling Sam's feathers, getting under Sam's skin, doing what he can to push Sam where he wants him to go, and it probably needs to stop. It isn't that Sam honestly minds any of these things – being pushed can be fun, but this is Gene maybe-possibly _flirting_ with him, and he's not quite sure what to make of that yet.

He'd like to make something.

The daily talk happens in the morning, the job gets done, some days are better than others. The people Sam thought he knew already are growing on him, changing. Sure, they take the piss out of each other when it's necessary, point out their own mistakes without a constant need to call names, even suggest how they could have done things better; Chris is starting to come into his own, Ray only seems to shoot his mouth off maliciously half the time now, and Annie never hesitates to show how whip-sharp she is, more clever than the lot of them combined. A few more days pass by, and Gene's peculiarities aren't so peculiar after all, and he still finds ways to change this up; he'll step back altogether, let Sam run the show, say it's good for him to get a look at proper leadership, who knows when he might need it, in that mocking way of his that sounds almost fond.

If he gets a bit of kip in his office while it's happening, well, doesn't that just mean that Gene trusts him, not just with manhandling his ideals about and making them work for himself, that he and Sam aren't really all that different after all? Because it works, it all works, more and more bad guys getting caught, more and more of the same being sent away. Even if there is some backtracking, things are, frighteningly almost, looking absolutely positive – it's all on the up and up.

If Gene's accomplished anything, it's warped the whole of reality, and it's left Sam as the odd one out. Well, isn't that the norm? Only, this time, it doesn't seem all that bad.

They still end up at the pub after hours, or at Sam's flat after that, and they bicker about anything and everything, not necessarily things pertaining to work. Then it's back to the station, and Sam keeps juggling, because Gene knows that Sam knows, even if Sam doesn't know what he _knows_. One day Gene only smokes two packs, and Sam swears he's down to one the next day, as if he's remembered what Sam said about him smoking too much; Sam comments, as if he's meant to. Gene makes a thoughtful noise, and lights up another fag. The next day he's back up to two again, and while Sam's not sure of the specifics, he's sure it must mean something.

He doesn't nag, but he comments, and when Gene's back down to one pack the next day, just how long is Sam going to let the obvious stare him in the face?

–  
–

'Well?'

'Well what?'

Gene snorts and drops down into the chair opposite him, sets his tray out on the canteen table. 'Just curious, is all – what's going on with that lead of yours?'

Sam shrugs, then grabs his fork, poking it into the pile of mushy carrots he hadn't had the heart (or the stomach) to eat. He's not so sure if he has the heart to keep carrying on with this charade, but he doesn't know how to let it go – he shouldn't have to let it go. Maya used to say what an obtuse bastard he could when he put his mind to it, and he really is putting his mind to it this time.

He's even tried talking to Annie about it, but he's not got very far. He doesn't know how to put it, and Annie's not been able to make heads or tails of it. She's not the only one.

'I think it's stalled,' he says, and Gene makes a sound – a heavy 'hrmph' – and Sam glances across the table at him, and the platter set before him. 'I need to make a move, but I'm afraid of it being the wrong one.'

'Cause then you'd lose everything?'

'Yes,' and his throat tightens. 'Sorry, just... what are you eating?'

'Chips,' Gene says, stabbing one of them with a fork. 'This green stuff right here? I'm told it's called lettuce.' He plucks the chip off the end of his fork, sets the thing down, then picks a leaf of lettuce of, and – as Sam stares at him, eyes gone wider, mouth hanging open – he wraps the chip in leafy green, and then takes a great big bite of both things. 'Mm-mm-mmm,' he says, and it sounds so heartfelt, Sam feels the room lurch about him. 'Right tasty, that – what, have I got something stuck in my teeth?'

Sam shakes his head, fork hitting the plate with a clink. Whatever Gene's doing, he must be hoping to drive Sam crazy – no, right, _crazier_. He's up, and off, ignoring Gene's 'oi, Gladys!' as he pushes his way out the canteen

He spends the next five minutes laughing in the bathroom, at least until he cries.

–  
–

He wills himself to not react when Gene goes to bop his nose, and he doesn't – well, somewhere between the seventh time, and the ninth, with Gene asking him if he's found it yet and then making a fool of Sam all over again because no, Sam hasn't; he doesn't speak up when Gene sits with him at lunch and eats another odd combination of food, health-minded in all the wrong ways. He finally affects the air he was hoping for almost all along, completely perturbed as Gene's finger jabs at his nose. Sam rolls his eyes and takes Gene by the wrist and shoves his hand to the side. 'Stop being so bloody childish,' he says, and Gene, for the moment, at least, relents, giving a sharp nod. 'We have work to do.'

The next time it starts to happen, Sam's going to be repeating himself now, and he starts off by rolling his eyes: 'God, are you trying that again...' But no, it's changed, as if the stakes have been raised: Gene's leaned in close, and Sam's leaned back to the wall, and Gene feathers his fingers back through Sam's hair, nails scraping across his scalp, and Sam's blushing all over, head to bloody toe. '...because... it's not going to... work...'

It could work, if that's what Gene wanted, or what _Sam_ wanted, and he suddenly – very sharply, clear as anything, suddenly wants to lean in, close that gap between them, and kiss Gene. Just to see what rise he might get out of him, if any. It is a terrible idea, the very concept something impossible – terrifying – and yet, for one shining moment, there's no doubt in Sam's mind.

But it's the move he's been waiting on, the moment choosing to define itself. Perfectly, in fact.

Gene stands up straight, dusts his hands off. 'Yeah?'

Sam nods, then stops, and shakes his head instead. The moment trails on into the next. It's not so certain now, and Sam stands at a loss.

'Thought so.' Gene smirks. 'You found it yet?' His mouth softens. It isn't even that grin now, no, something else, subtle almost – a smile, no sarcasm attached to it. Simple affection instead, and why should that knock Sam off his feet? It's everything that Sam could possibly want, all the rough bits scraped away. Oh, he's sure they're lurking in the background, waiting to pounce, but for the moment... Perfect, yes.

Sam nods, no hesitation. It isn't Gene smoking less, or more, or smoking even less when Sam calls him on it, or eating the things that he's been eating, because none of it makes any sense. There's something staring him in the face because it's been waiting for him to make up his mind, figure it all out. That urge to kiss him doesn't sound at all so terrible an idea now, even with Sam lacking the resolve to go through with it.

Maybe, soon, perhaps.

–  
–

He starts with something small. One of Genes flasks is dingy and in dire need of replacement, and it's not that Gene's much for sentimentality. If he had a to-do-list, 'getting a replacement' would likely be somewhere at the top – definitely close to 'drive my DI insane'.

Sam gets that replacement for him. He even refills the whisky inside, a good single malt, because he's thorough when he puts his mind to it – hell, no, he's thorough whether he means it or not. Like being thick without meaning it, at least when it came to his – no. He can't think of it like that, put it in such human terms, though he's only one man. But he refills the whisky, tucks the flask back into its hiding place, and waits for Gene's response.

Sam happens to coordinate things that he's there when Gene finds his gift. He makes no big show of it, just watches as Gene picks it up, fingers wrapping about the thing – if they seem extra reverent, Sam can blame that on distance, an inability to really see the details up close. Gene glances at him, something open in his gaze – no grin now, no outright displays, but his mouth does quirk at the corner and he tips his head sharply.

'Good year.'

There's that bubble of warmth again, and it leaves Sam smiling like a fool.

–  
–

If this is what happens when he's making Gene happy instead of frustrating the both of them to fighting and shouting and kicking and then some more shouting – well, Sam knows what's effective and if that was what was needed, that was where they'd go, but this? This is also nice. Maybe this is what Gene has been offering him, all along, by adjusting the way he works to better fit with how Sam also does his job. It could be a dream come true, but there's still the nagging doubt that Sam could be all wrong.

Gene tries a few more things about the office, and all in all they go very well. The morning pep talks are a hit around the station. The Super marvels at how CID has been working these days, so efficiently, and Gene takes the compliment without much aplomb. The bad cases still happen, it's just a way of life, but there's a sense of camaraderie with the whole of his team now that was not there, not in this exact sense, before. Built on dreams, on illusion, what Sam used to think the lot of this was.

He's learned differently.

Gene rarely mocks him when he goes down the high road of 'we need the right evidence!', and Sam rewards him – it really is a reward – of some nice, home-cooked meals, the sort he knows that Gene can't be getting at his actual home. He hasn't sussed out where Gene's missus went off to, but wherever she is, Gene's happier for it – for the absence, for the opportunities it's unlocked – and he thinks, no, he's sure of it, he really likes it when Gene is happy.

Especially when Sam is playing a part of it.

–  
–

'What's that?'

'Treacle tart – you like it, yeah?'

Sam nods, somewhat wary. 'It's my favourite.'

Gene's smirking at him. 'Just, saw it – thought you needed a treat. You know, for all the hard work you've been doing, round the office and all, and out on the street. Even in investigating this lead.'

'You're saying I'm being a good team player?'

'Etcetera etcetera – isn't that the smarmy way you'd put it?'

'Did you just – '

'Yes, Gladys, I did – thought my impression of you was spot on, eh?'

Sam forces a smile, swallows the lump in his throat, 'Yes, Guv'. He stares up at Gene, who's smirking down at him, and tries not to think about how warm he is, or how kissable Gene's lips are, or just how frantically his heart is beating, thumping against his ribcage. No one else is about and Sam should remember where they've gone off too but he finds he doesn't care. Gene's staring at him so hard now, Sam flat-out forgets what he was in the process of thinking. Sam glances at the tart – it does look delicious – and then back up at Gene.

Play it cool, Tyler, he tells himself. 'Is it poisoned?' His voice doesn't crack, or squeak, or do anything embarrassing.

Gene barks a laugh out. He jabs a finger down into it, then brings it up quickly to his mouth, sucking it clean. 'Nope!' He spins around and stomps back to his office and Sam's left smiling at Gene's door, which is just swinging shut.

He thinks he gets it, even if he's not sure just what he's meant to do with it.

–  
–

He makes it through another day at work, through witnesses and suspects and all the paperwork, even through the visit to the pub that still comes attached at the end. He's thinking too much, but that's nothing new, as well as a bit too much whisky – well, no, that's just as par for the course. The Sam of 1974 knows exactly what he's doing – well, the older one does. Annie gives him a few bewildering looks along the way, and Sam grins back at her. When she does come up beside him and ask what he's got planned, he laughs against the edge of his pint.

'I'm not really sure, but wish me luck?'

She stares at him, still confused, but rolling with it. 'Good luck, Sam.'

He smiles back at her. 'Thanks.'

Not long after that, he sets out into the night, humming to himself with his hands jammed into his pockets, heels clicking against the pavement.

Gene doesn't let him be, but Sam had known his cutting out early would draw some attention. This is exactly what he wants, and maybe – maybe, when he's never felt so at home here, or more confused at Gene than when he first met him, or even so sure he wanted to be here forever – he's finally figured out what he needed to do to step up his game.

Gene's caught up with him now and stops the Cortina at the kerb, engine idling. 'Well? You need a lift?' Sam glances at him, and considers his options. He could saunter over, lean down, and grab Gene by the lapels and kiss him soundly on the lips, the way he's wanted to most of the day, the last week, no, make that the last month. That might not be what either of them are expecting, could just catch Gene off guard, the way he always seems to do with Sam – really, just thinking it like that, it even surprises Sam. Smoking less, smoking more, uncharacteristically healthy eating (well, it's an attempt), giving him presents in the form of making CID that much easier for Sam to fit into, and letting Sam do nice things for him in turn; they could almost be doing those nice things for each other as a couple, and the idea isn't so daft as to be completely unbelievable. It's been a very eye opening experience already, and Sam's quite ready for a few more. God, if this doesn't backfire in his face, he's got another story for Annie she's sure she won't be able to believe. He doesn't think he can, and he's the one living it – but then, no, that's not anything new.

Anyhow, if it did backfire, he could always blame it on too much drink.

Sam keeps walking. Gene drives forwards again, stops the car, then gets out. The door bangs shut, a loud boom in the crispness of the quiet night. 'What's the problem, Tyler?' Even Gene is towering before him, caught up in the haze of evening gloom, a flicker of lamplight from off to the side. He's a bit amazing – but then, hasn't he always been? Even when Sam wasn't sure he liked him very much, that seemed to be the truth.

Sam stops, Gene come to stop in front of him. He shrugs, because how could he get away with saying 'You're driving me crazy', when Gene's already assured he's mad. Or, even better, 'I want to kiss you, right here, right now', and – actually, yes. That does sound much better. But neither thing is what he says, instead going with the tried and trusty: 'No problem, Guv – just needed the fresh air.'

Gene hmphs. 'Faster we get to yours, faster we can get a drink.'

Sam stops, and thinks it over. 'Well, with logic like that...'

–  
–

It's somewhere between the second drink and the third, when Sam's finished with playing the good host and he leans down and says, right against Gene's ear: 'I know what's up, Hunt.'

He draws back, just far enough to get a look at Gene's face. Gene doesn't look perturbed. Gene doesn't look amused, either – he doesn't look much of anything at all. Only, there's that hint of a grin, and Sam knows he's said the right thing, and he grins right back at him, flashes his teeth. His arm is snug about Gene's shoulders now, fingers lightly clasping at Gene's shirt. Yes, this feels nice.

'Took you – '

He doesn't want Gene to keep playing him, or insult him for not catching on quickly enough, because Sam's always been extra thick when it came to where his heart was concerned (he can think it this time, because it's the truth), and he doesn't need Gene to rub that in. He's used to Gene toying with him, but he's never considered such outright, playful flirtation. He likes it, not that he only just realised that right now – it's been a long time coming; but still, what was he supposed to make of it at first? This is Gene Hunt and, if you'd asked Sam a month ago, Gene Hunt couldn't possibly be anything but straight. He's pretty convinced otherwise, now.

Sam slides that one hand up and winds it into Gene's hair and tugs his mouth over, holding the moment as their lips warm against each other, breath and breath. Gene's the one to gasp; Sam's the one to press in deeper, licking with his tongue and taking what Gene's got to give.

It is, not that he'd thought about it, glorious. A bit messy. Gene tastes of himself and the whisky and that's just as planned. The heat in Sam's stomach had suffused the whole of his body, setting things alight – he's hard, he's happy, God, he's _hot_.

'Long enough?' Sam finishes for him, once he's finished with _him_ , and Gene blinks twice and grins outright, radiating that same happiness that's swept through Sam. His hand is warm and firm at the back of Sam's neck, pulling him back down, tugging him right onto Gene's lap. He likes this. He likes all of it, how they fit, how the moment's meant to be. 'I needed to be sure. It was one thing, and then it was another, and I...'

'Well, I'm glad you figured yourself out. I was running out of options.'

'I appreciate it all – I mean, I haven't had a reason to cook this nicely for anyone in a long, long time. Everything you'd been doing, how we've all been working together, I feel...' He says it, because he'll sound like a sap, but he's a sap who's telling the truth. 'Feels like I've come home.'

There's something suspicious in Gene's eyes. 'Oh. Like you've gone back to Hyde?'

He chuckles, even though the words do sting (he deserves it, for all he's mentioned the place in the past). He shakes his head, slides his fingers back across Gene's cheek, sinking them back into his hair. 'God, no. This is so much better than Hyde.' He wriggles about, getting comfortable. Gene loops an arm about him as he smiles, and the suspicion is gone. On that cheerier note, they resume their snogging – nothing frantic, just slow, easygoing, leisurely as all that, and even the heat banks down, like it only means to last.

It's got Sam feeling it's something they've done a hundred times before, and not a completely new act that's only a few moments old. It's delicious, more than it has any right to be, the click of Gene's teeth against his, how Gene's tongue is just as aggressive as Sam never thought about it being, but it's still absolutely right. How Gene's hands on his body are holding onto him tightly, too tightly, and he's never been this excited to see the bruises he's left with. Because this is Gene, and he's surely capable of gentle, or softly softly, but he's still always going to be Gene. Sam's said it himself, before, even if he was teasing: rules are rules.

It helps that Sam finally knows what to do with him, after everything else.

Gene draws back, the both of them are gasping. His eyes search Sam's face, and Sam lifts a hand up, slides two fingers across Gene's kiss-warm lips, aching for everything at once, but not to lose control of the pace. He's still hard, but this is all so new, for as familiar as it feels. He could just kiss Gene for hours yet, before getting to anything more.

'Well?' Gene teases, nipping at Sam's fingertips, kissing and licking. 'You found what you were digging for?'

Sam wriggles some more in his lap, Gene grown hard beneath him. 'That and so much more,' he says, smirking, _happy_ , close to laughing as he lightly bops Gene on the nose (it only seems fair). Gene's eyes widen, cheeks reddening as his mouth falls open.

'Cheeky sod,' Gene mutters, but there's no sting in his words. Sam's smirk widens, and he gives the handful he's got of Gene's hair a slight tug as he pushes back in for a kiss, pressing his lips to Gene's.


End file.
